The Search
by ERWG
Summary: The scene we were deprived of seeing. Hank is missing and Marty volunteers to help Jim look for him.


"I heard barking and then I didn't—I didn't hear the barking no more. So I don't know."

Sonny's words echoed ominously through Jim's mind as he gripped his folded cane. Now wasn't the time to worry about keeping up his image for Marty's sake. Finding Hank was the most important thing. But something else also nagged at him from a different part of his mind. Christie had been so upset with him that morning…but he tried not to think about that. Being separated from his squad and left in Hoboken without Hank—without even being able to tell anyone where he was—and then waiting through the endless day for word on Hank's whereabouts had been almost more than he could take while still maintaining his composure. He tried to blot out the memory of Christie's angry tearful voice, shaking as she confronted him, but it stayed with him nearly as vividly as the thought of losing Hank did.

Why did it have to be Marty? Why couldn't Karen or Tom or even Fisk have offered to give up an evening to help Jim search for Hank? Jim knew Marty was being nice, was probably trying to redeem himself for his previous behavior, but that didn't make being around someone like him at a time like this any easier to stomach. Jim was getting used to not seeing, to feeling at a disadvantage with people, but most people allowed him to forget about it once in a while. Not Marty. Even now, with good behavior and a semblance of respect between them, Jim could feel Marty's doubts, his opinions about the gun and about how silly it was for a blind guy to be a cop in the first place.

And today, of all days, when Jim was close to agreeing with Marty, he would have to spend time with the guy. To be at his mercy and in his debt. But he couldn't go home alone, just sitting there while Hank was lost. Even worse than being helpless before Marty was the torturous thought of what was going through Hank's mind as he wandered the streets alone, longing for his master, knowing he was needed. Jim couldn't even think about it without that antsy feeling he had fought all day nearly overtaking him, giving him the urge to pace.

Using the sound of Marty's footsteps as a guide, Jim followed him out of the squad. He couldn't do without some kind of guidance for much longer. Great. Not only was he borrowing Marty's ability to see and to drive, but he was also going to have to depend on him for mobility to some extent. He had never imagined being alone with Marty outside the squad without Hank to guide him; to make him seem as mobile as a sighted person. Even with the cane—or especially with the cane—the obviousness of his blindness was going to strike Marty.

It happened in the elevator.

"So, what happens now?" Marty asked, his words sounding awkward.

Jim unfolded the cane with a practiced shake. "Don't worry about it."

"I—I mean…I could—you know. Like Karen."

For the first time in several hours, Jim's smile felt genuine. "You want to _guide _me, Marty?" he asked, knowing his expression captured his skepticism.

"Yeah, Dunbar," Marty said, his old snide tone back in full force. "It's been a dream of mine for some time. Seriously, I thought it would be easier that way."

Jim nodded. "Yeah," he said, surprised by his own reluctance to admit even this much to Marty. Any sign of need was dangerous.

The elevator reached the bottom and Jim, folding his cane, reached for Marty's elbow.

"Here," Marty said, stepping into position so his elbow was easy to find.

So he wasn't that big of a guy, Jim mused, tightening his fingers around Marty's upper arm. Based on attitude alone, Jim had always assumed Marty had to be bulky with muscle, but he was actually on the lean side.

"So I parked over in the—" Marty began, that awkward sound back in his voice.

"I don't need to know," Jim said, fighting the urge to smile again. "Just walk…and pay attention in narrow passages. I'll follow."

"They teach you all this walking around with people stuff in that training you took?"

Marty had a tendency to ask what others felt awkward mentioning. It was an oddly refreshing habit, although it made for some uncomfortable conversations from time to time when Marty pressed too hard. Jim thought of those questions about bowling and pool and smiled. At least now Marty didn't seem to be trying to embarrass him or to put him in an awkward situation. He really seemed curious, asking nosy questions with a kind of daring most people outgrew well before adulthood.

"Something like that," Jim said, not wanting to elaborate but also not wanting to discourage Marty from asking altogether. "It's all kind of a mix of training and trial and error."

"Gotta tell you, I can't really imagine how…" His voice trailed off, making Jim realize this wasn't Marty's normal kind of rip. He genuinely seemed unable to imagine.

Jim nodded. "I know," he said comfortably. "I still can't imagine it most of the time either."

Since the incident with the Korean grocer, Marty had been polite, had even backed Jim up a time or two, but Jim wasn't fooled into believing anything had really changed. On the surface, their whole dynamic was different, but Jim knew the moment certain topics were broached, Marty would be ready to pounce. Not today, though. With Hank missing, Marty seemed more subdued than usual.

They stopped and Marty took out his keys, the jingling mixing with the beep of a car horn as he clicked the alarm off. It sounded like the alarm Jim used to have on his car. Jim didn't think about that car very much any more, but hearing the alarm brought to mind the freedom he used to have to come and go on his own. It didn't seem right that Marty's freedom was still intact when Jim's was now so limited.

"We're at my car," Marty said, tapping the side of the vehicle so Jim could hear it. "That's your door. You got it?"

"Yeah."

Jim had to feel around for longer than usual to find the door handle, but Marty was already at his own door and presumably didn't notice.

Some sickly kind of air freshener assaulted Jim's nostrils when he closed himself inside.

"It's kind of messy," Marty said apologetically. "Things tend to pile up in the back and…"

Now he's realizing what he's saying, Jim thought as Marty's words dwindled.

A sardonic smile twisted Jim's lips. "I really hadn't noticed."

"Right," Marty said after a pause. "So, any idea where I should be looking?"

Jim frowned. Where was that dumpster Sonny had mentioned? All he knew was that it was in the East Village.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he told Marty. "He could be anywhere by now."

Marty pulled the car into the street. "I have a rough idea of where to start," he said. "I really hope we find him, Jim."

Jim sensed the sincerity in his tone.

"Thanks. This is really nice of you."

"Well, I owe you one."

Jim turned his head toward Marty, trying to figure out his meaning. "You do?" he asked after drawing a blank.

"Today. You didn't tell the Chief of Ds that we lost you."

"I didn't do anything the rest of you wouldn't have done for me," Jim said.

"That's true," Marty agreed. "But I didn't think—"

"What?"

"Forget it, Dunbar."

"You didn't think I'd take one for the team?" Jim asked.

"Something like that."

"You think I've never taken one for the team before?"

"I didn't—I mean—I—"

The way Marty had begun to sputter showed Jim how his meaning had just been misinterpreted. He hadn't been thinking of the incident at the bank at all when he had spoken of taking one for the team, but obviously Marty was now feeling forced into looking at Jim's blindness as proof of his loyalty to the squad. The last thing Jim needed at that moment was another reason for Marty to obsess over his blindness, but it was too late. The wrong idea had already been planted.

"Are we getting close to the East Village?" Jim asked, hoping to distract Marty. "Do you think we should pull over and get out at some point, or look from the car?"

"I think we should drive around until we see a place that looks like it could be worth investigating," Marty said. "We're getting pretty close now. How about I look on the left side of the street and you loo—"

Jim laughed. He couldn't help it, although he couldn't remember having felt the urge to laugh around Marty before. At least not a real laugh; the kind from his gut that sometimes embarrassed Christie when he did it in public.

"Sorry," Marty said meekly. "Wow. Just when I think I can't ignore it, it slips my mind."

"Mine too, sometimes," Jim said, trying not to show how gratified he felt by Marty's lapse. It was an unintentional accolade on Marty's part, but that only strengthened the compliment.

"Maybe it's because you're so—normal," Marty mused.

"Thank you, Marty," Jim said dryly.

"Was that offensive?"

"I'm not that easy to offend."

"No, I guess you really can't be, can you? Not in your situation."

"That's true."

"I see the shit that gets thrown at you all the time and how you just have to take it. All the comments…"

Jim felt himself flush as he thought of all the things he had had to "take" since being back on the job and how Marty had noticed each one. How Marty had been the one making most of the comments. Everything from being heckled by the guy in the holding cell on his first day back to Marty's own, "Blind as a bat," remark made to Don Yun still rankled, but Jim could never allow himself to show his frustration over being addressed in such a way. When he could see, a single look from him could quell such talk. The challenge in his eye backed by his obvious physical prowess used to buy Jim the kind of respect he wished he could still get. Now people thought he was an inspiration and their respect was in the form of pity. It didn't matter how many cases he solved or how many perps he hit. He couldn't see. That was all that mattered to anyone.

It surprised him to realize that he had been working with Marty for over three months without having the slightest idea of what the guy looked like. No one, not even Karen, had ever thought to describe his co-workers to him and he didn't like to ask such things. Not at work. In his mind, Marty had dark hair and, based on the arrogance of his tone and the way others addressed him, his looks had to be average or better. He seemed close to Jim's height and, until that afternoon, Jim had assumed him to be a meaty, strongly-built man. But he wasn't even as large as Jim. Was that why he had refused to fight? For a moment Jim allowed himself to gloat, imagining that Marty had felt physically threatened by him. But then he knew the truth and it couldn't be ignored. Marty wouldn't fight a blind guy any more than he would fight a woman. It was the same hurdle Jim couldn't jump when it came to Marty accepting him as a detective.

But what kind of detective was terrified at the thought of having to work without his dog? How many had to depend on the kindness of a female partner to lead them around and describe crime scenes. Could Jim have even done his job had Karen been unwilling to help from time to time? Even Marty and Tom had taken to offering descriptions whenever Jim arrived on the scene. Helpful, but…Jim wasn't used to being on the receiving end of help.

He felt split in two sometimes. The old part of his personality, the part that felt like himself, still raged and struggled to break past the new personality that held it at bay, making him appear placid and patient no matter what he faced. Sometimes the old personality broke through and Jim lost control, but the new personality was surprisingly strong and usually remained in place, no matter how at odds it seemed with who Jim knew he was. Not for the first time, Jim wished he could show the old personality to Marty as he had never dared to do. Show him that he was still a badass cop. An equal.

"Dunbar?"

Jim jumped, wondering how long it had been since he had spoken. "You see him?" he asked.

"No. You have that thinking thing going on again so I thought maybe—maybe you got some kind of idea. A place to look?"

Jim sighed. "No. Nothing useful on my mind. Sorry."

"Hey, listen. There's an alley here and a lot of dumpsters. You wanna get out and walk around for a while? We might have better luck that way."

"You're sure you don't mind?" Jim said, thinking of more than just the walking. Was Marty going to lead him again or should the cane be ready to be safe?

"It's fine. Let's do this. We gotta try, right? We'll find him."

For some reason, hearing the confidence in Marty's voice heartened Jim more than he would have thought possible.

"I hope so," he said, reaching for his door handle and letting himself out.

It was habit, this way of exiting the car and meeting up with Karen's elbow at a spot they both always seemed to know how to find. Would Marty have such an instinct? Would he naturally know what to do as Karen did or would it become embarrassing with him? Now the specter of humiliation always loomed and Jim had to be ready for it at any moment.

Jim closed the car door, unsure if he should meet Marty in front of or behind the vehicle. Hearing footsteps to his left, he turned that way, wondering if Marty was going to meet him at all or if he just assumed Jim could get to wherever he needed to go by using the cane. Jim had made such a point of learning his way around the squad that it was possible that Marty didn't realize he couldn't do that wherever he went.

"Marty?" Jim said, feeling stupid.

"Over here, Dunbar," Marty replied. "Oh, sorry. I forgot you. I'm straight ahead a ways. Want me to get you? The path is clear if you just walk."

Jim turned toward the voice, but hesitated. Was the path really clear? Was there a curb in the way? A trashcan? Would Marty be calling to him like that if it wasn't safe? Jim no longer felt that Marty would do anything to him out of malice, especially after a day like this one, but out of ignorance? Definitely.

He took one step and then sighed. Shaking his head in irritation, he shook his cane straight and, using it, rejoined Marty.

"You don't need that," Marty said. "I told you I would—"

"Well you didn't," Jim said shortly.

"But I was just right here. There wasn't anything for you to—"

"And how was I supposed to know that?" Jim asked.

"Because I told you it was okay to walk to me. Just seemed easier that way."

"And you would just go with that?" Jim asked. "I mean, if you were me?"

"You don't trust me? You don't think I got your back?"

"Would you have trusted me?"

"I—" he broke off and sighed. "I don't know. I don't know if I'd trust anyone if I were in your position."

Jim nodded, satisfied with the exchange at last. "Do you think he's out here?" he asked. "It's been hours."

"I don't know. Hey, Jim. What are you gonna do if—"

"I don't know," Jim interrupted, unable to bear hearing the end of Marty's sentence.

"You can still get around, though. Right?"

"I have my cane," Jim said, not able to muster much enthusiasm. "But I'm so used to Hank now."

"I know, but if you didn't have Hank, you could still work, right?"

Was his job so dependent upon a dog?

"Yeah, of course I could still work," he said defiantly.

"At least you got Karen, so that's gotta help."

Jim couldn't even get mad at Marty for pointing out his dependency. Hadn't he just been thinking the same thing himself?

"Let's find him," Jim said, folding the cane.

This time Marty elbow found its way to Jim's hand more easily than it had at the squad, but Jim noticed how Marty walked with his arm rigid and sticking out a bit at the side and his steps felt halting. It was nothing like walking with Karen. Karen was different from most people who found themselves in the position of leading Jim. After that first offer on her part, when she had taken Jim by the arm and he had corrected her by taking her arm instead, she had been natural. She walked at a normal pace and instinctively knew how to alert Jim to steps, doorways, and low-hanging branches without even speaking. Jim felt at ease and strangely normal while being led by Karen.

A lot of people, like the cop who had led him back up to the squad after the fiasco in New Jersey that afternoon, walked stiffly with Jim, over-describing as they went, never allowing their guiding arm to be in a relaxed position. Their tension passed through to Jim, making him more prone to stumble or bump into things. Jim wished there was some way to educate the general public so no one would feel uneasy while leading a blind person, but he had to admit that before his shooting, he hadn't felt all that comfortable in such situations himself.

No one, not even Karen, was as natural as Christie. Even when it had all been new and she and Jim didn't know there was such a thing as the Sighted Guide technique, she had known not to do anything too obvious. She followed some kind of wifely instinct that told her it was okay to offer guidance while behaving in a perfectly natural manner. Christie held Jim's hand or put her arm around his waist or even linked arms with him so he appeared to be escorting her, but she knew how to give silent signals so he made no mistakes. Walking with Christie made Jim feel less blind, if that was possible.

She had been sympathetic when he called her that afternoon, seeming just as worried about Hank as he was. She had known to drop that morning's flare-up in light of Jim's worry and grief over the prospect of not being able to find Hank.

"I heard barking and then I didn't—I didn't hear the barking no more. So I don't know."

Sonny's words, the words that had haunted him for much of the day, reverberated in his mind again. Had Johnny or Luis killed Hank to shut him up? Dogs—and people—had been killed for much less. Jim had learned that much during his years as a homicide detective. His breathing became rapid as he tried not to imagine Hank's lifeless body in a dumpster somewhere.

"Jim?"

This time Jim knew he had been silent for a long time. He and Marty had walked for several blocks, going in and out of alleys, occasionally calling for Hank. Talking had seemed like too much trouble all of a sudden.

"Jim," Marty said again, stopping. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You went all zombie on me. What do you want to do now?"

Jim sighed, biting his bottom lip as he thought. "This isn't how we're going to find him," he said reluctantly. "It was worth a shot—and I really do thank you—but this isn't working. I should be at home by the phone, waiting for whoever finds him to call."

"He had that harness thing on, right?"

"He did when he was taken."

"So, somebody's bound to check in with those Blind Eye people, right?"

Jim nodded, feeling slightly better. "You're probably right. And my phone number is on Hank's collar along with a reward offer for anyone who finds him."

Marty turned around until he and Jim were facing where the car was parked. "We done here?" he asked.

"We're done."

Marty had probably known for some time that they weren't going to find Hank on their walk. His patience, the way he had waited until Jim was ready before suggesting they turn back, seemed unlike the Marty Jim had come to know since joining the 8th Precinct. This Marty behaved as a friend would, knowing when to encourage and when to give space. And now, as they walked together back to the car, Jim noticed that Marty's guiding arm had relaxed.

"Hey, Jim," Marty said. "I've been wondering something…I saw your wife at Walter's racket and I must say—I was impressed."

"Thank you," Jim said, but something in Marty's tone was preparing him to hear something he wouldn't like.

"So—a woman like that. Classy. Beautiful. How has she been with the whole blind thing?"

Jim took a deep breath. Hadn't Sonny implied a similar question that morning at the café? After his hint that it was big of Christie to have stayed with Jim, he had asked how that worked. "Maybe some other time," Jim had evaded. He sensed such a tactic wouldn't work with Marty, who didn't have Sonny's healthy fear of him. No lightly sarcastic retort came to mind. This hit too close to home because Jim often wondered the same thing. He couldn't tell Marty that it was even more complicated than just the blindness; that, so far, the marriage had survived his infidelity as well and that that was the part Christie might never get over.

"She's been good to me," he said carefully.

"Too personal?" Marty asked. "Sorry. I was just curious."

"That's okay," Jim said, relieved to be spared further interrogation on the subject. But it did get him thinking. How did Christie really feel? Standing by him had been worth it, she had said. He was worth it. She still felt safe with him. What had she said that day? "No one is ever completely safe, Jim. No matter who they're married to." He had been too preoccupied at that time to let her words sink in, but they did now. "I have never felt unsafe with you, either before or since you've been blinded," she had also said, "but I would rather take my chances on a man who will talk to me..." How did she feel about having a blind husband? The real question, Jim realized, was how did she feel about him? Was he good enough for her? Had he ever been?

As much as he longed to find Hank, Jim suddenly felt more fear at the thought of how he may have been allowing his wife slip away. His lips tightened. That could not happen. He had his job back, but at what cost? Was it even worth it if he didn't have Christie to come home to at the end of the day?

"We're here," Marty said, clicking his alarm off. "You want me to take you home?"

"That would be great," Jim said stiffly.

He gave Marty directions and they fell into silence again as Marty drove.

"I really am sorry," Marty said unexpectedly.

"Why is that?" Jim asked.

"I shouldn't have brought up your wife. But I have to say…if I had someone like that…"

"You married?"

Jim had heard Marty speak of his kid on numerous occasions, but never a wife.

"I was," he said. "That's how I know what I'm talking about."

Marty pulled up to the outside of Jim's building fifteen minutes later. "I'm double parked. Do you need me to take you up to your apartment?"

"No, I'm fine," he said. "Just help me get my bearings, will you?"

"Um—I'm really right outside the front entrance. When you exit the car, you'll go between two parked cars, up a curb, and then it will be straight ahead of you."

"Thank you," Jim said as he opened the car door and stepped outside. Before closing it again, he turned toward Marty again. "See you tomorrow, Marty."

It felt awkward, using the cane to get to the front entrance when he was used to Hank taking him straight there. Jim hoped Marty wasn't watching, but knew he was. He righted himself once after starting to veer too much to the left but then was soon able to find the door. As he put his key in the lock, he heard Marty drive away, beeping his horn twice.

It had been a long time since he had entered his apartment building alone and without Hank with him. Sometimes he left Hank inside as he went to meet Christie somewhere nearby, but arriving home without either wife or dog was surreal.

And they wouldn't be waiting for him upstairs, either. No Hank, wanting his dinner, ready to be walked, nuzzling Jim so he could get into that perfect petting position. No Christie ready with dinner and a beer, asking how his day was, offering herself in an embrace. A kiss.

He thought of his first day back on the job and how hurt Christie had been because he wouldn't talk to her about it. She hadn't understood that he had to process it first himself. Aside from all the comments and doubts bombarding him that day, he needed time for it to really sink in that he was doing the same job as before but that he couldn't see. The normalcy he had assumed he would be able to feel at work had not come. He had been just as blind there as he was everywhere else. How could he have told Christie all that?

But he should have tried. She had waited for him, a special dinner on the stove, ready to be let in, and he couldn't do it. He had also missed many opportunities to do it since, but Christie always remained there, ready to listen.

For how long? Would she always be there to ask if Jim never gave her a response?

He opened the door to his apartment, thinking of his normal routine of dropping off his keys and Hank's harness near the door. No harness, no Hank. No Christie inside.

He walked through the apartment, vaguely wondering what to do next. For the first time in quite a few months, he found himself nearly colliding with things. Things he should have known to avoid. Better to sit on the couch and regroup.

He sat, but Hank was still missing. Christie was still out…

But then a flush of warmth nearly overcame him. "Hey," her voice said as her soft footsteps approached.

His world began to right itself. He couldn't do anything for Hank except wait, but Christie was there. He could do something about that. He could try and make sure Christie wouldn't be going anywhere. At least, not without him.


End file.
